


Porcelain

by dawnstruck



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You alright?“ Art asks afterwards and Felix gives a breathy little laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> Spontaneously wrote this yesterday morning after realizing that there's not really any Felix/Art (Fart? Artlix?) around.  
> This is a sort of episode coda, but I don't remember which episode it was exactly. It's set after Felix basically got his finger prints stolen and was threatened to be charged with the murder of Cal's police officer friend. I'm not even sure whether Art was even there to check up on him afterwards. If he wasn't, call this artistic license.   
> Hope you like it.

“You alright?“ Art asks afterwards and Felix gives a breathy little laugh. Vaguely he wonders whether it sound as hysteric as he feels.

“Apart from the fact that – once more – I got threatened by some total psycho,“ he grits out, flashing his white teeth, “My life is fucking dandelions.“

“Dandelions,“ Art echoes, “To be honest I pecked you more for a rainbows and unicorns type of guy.“

Without permission, a small smile steals over Felix's lips.

There's a pause and then Felix glances up he can see it's because Art is pointedly eyeing some of Felix's more overtly queer possessions.“

“Don't judge,“ Felix manages to joke weakly, swatting a hand in Art's direction, “It's better than your dreary place. Us bachelors have to stick together.“

“What's that supposed to mean exactly?“ Art huffs and Felix rolls his eyes.

“Oh, you know,“ he waves his hand again, “Both of us got swept along in the crazy floodwaves of the women in our lives. So now it falls to us men to keep a level head on our broad shoulders, just over our smooth chiseled chests.“

Art is shaking his head, “If I didn't already know you I'd demand you take a drug test.“

“Why, was that sexual harassment of a police officer?“ Felix asks saucily, “Because occassionally that's gotten me out of a speeding ticket, you know.“

Art gives a long suffering sigh, “I see you're back to your old self. I should probably-“

“Don't!“ Felix bursts out, surprising even himself. He feels his face flush slightly.

“Don't go,“ he adds with some shame, „I don't want to be alone yet.“

Again, Art sighs, but this time more quietly and not at all exasperated, “Is there anything that ususally helps you calm down?“

“A good shag,“ Felix replies at once, but then amends, “Or just a cup of tea, really.“

It takes a moment for Art to move, but then he's turning around and marching over to the small kitchen area. A few minutes later he is back with a steaming cup of tea. 

The white porcelain has rose-colored petals strewn across its smooth surface and the tiny thing looks ridiculously delicate in Art's large, dark hands. But is is incredibly careful with it as he hands it over and Fe's fingers close around the welcomed warmth. He's still trembling, hoping not to spill anything as he leans back on the sofa and makes a show of crossing his legs.

The first sip reveals that the tea is shit, mostly just hot water with faint berry flavor, steeped not nearly long enough. Americans just don't know anything about tea. He wonders whether it wouldn't have been smarter to just tell Art the only thing that calms him down is sex after all. Art is probably much better at banging than at brewing.

Currently, Art is still standing in front of Fe, hands on his hips, making his jacket ride up, and watching as Felix continues to drink.

“Yea, could you maybe sit down for a second?“ Felix asks, feeling irritated, “Your hovering is making me nervous.“

“Any other wishes, milord?“ Art huffs, but complies and settles down on the plush cushions.

“Well, a massage would be nice,“ Felix muses, eyeing him over the gold rim of the cup, “You any good at those? Because this tea sucks.“

Surprisingly, though, Art doesn't jump at the quip about the tea. Instead he just cocks an eyebrow, “Depends on which part you want massaged.“

“My feet?“ he asks hopefully, but then shakes his head quickly, “No, my shoulders. I'm terribly tense.“

Art probably expected him to want a penis massage or something so he could just roll his eyes once more, so Felix is not at all prepared when the man sits up a little.

“Turn around,“ he says and a shiver slithers down Felix's spine. He hopes it doesn't look like scrambling when he hastily puts the cup on the coffee table and turns his back to Art.

This is not happening. It's just a joke to loosen him up. Art wouldn't possibly-

There's a warm weight between his shoulder blades and once more he thinks of how fragile the tea cup looked in Art's grasp. Then Art starts running his palms up and down Felix's back, not even a real massage yet, but comforting nonetheless.

“You do this to all distraught victims of blackmail you come across?“ Fe jokes, his voice wavering a little.

“Only those that won't shut up otherwise,“ Art answers.

Felix is feeling out of his depth. Which is saying something because he's wrapped men around his little finger since he was fifteen. He shouldn't be feeling like a blushing virgin during Seven Minutes in Heaven.

But the thing is, he can't read Art at all. This isn't some guy from a club or a bar or a dark street corner. This is a police detective, a compatriot, maybe even a sort of friend, but it's all just chance that they were even thrown together like this.

Because they are trying to help the clone club, both of them are, and Felix's been helping Sarah and Allison and Cosima, but no one's really been taking care of him and that has kind of been getting him down lately.

And now there's this man, this tall handsome serious man who's finding the kinks in Fe's shoulders and working them out like it's nothing. The ball of a thumb pushes itself under his shoulder blade and a tiny moan escapes from his mouth.

“Not to give you a big gay freak out,“ he warns, „ But if you keep this up you can't hold me responsible for my actions.“

Art doesn't say anything, no sigh, no laugh, no reaction at all, except maybe that he finds exactly that spot again and Felix has to moan once more.

It's a spontaneous decision, fueled by left-over adrenalin and 'I'm alive and not going to prison!', but then Felix is turning around and lunging himself at Art. Art, thanks Heaven, does not seem surprised at all when his lips are suddenly covered by Felix's searching mouth.

Instead of circling Fe's upper arms or pushing against his shoulders like Felix would have expected him to, he closes his strong arsm around the more slender man and hauls him right in, pressing their bodies together.

And Felix is bossy like no one else, but God, does he love being manhandled. And maybe it's a police thing or something but Art's got the manhandling down to a T.

The insides of Fe's mouth still feel kind of funny from the gross tea and Art must've had a black coffee some time ago because there's that stale bitter aftertaste, but somehow it's just what Felix needs.

Felix's been told repeatedly that he had really kissable lips and the same definitely goes for Art who doesn't do things halfway. He's got one rough palm on Felix's cheekbone, covering half of his face, the thumb rubbing a gentle rhythm. 

And Felix's gaydar generally works just fine, but a part of him is still surprised that Art is doing this after he'd only rolled his eyes at all of Felix's previous flirt attempts. Then again, maybe this is just a pity party.

“Is this a pity party?“ Felix asks wide-eyed, pulling back to stare at Art.

“Shut up,“ Art only growls and grinds his pelvis against Fe, proving that nope, neither of them has any reason to be pitied.

Almost out of general habit, Fe reaches up to unbutton the collar of Art's shirt, sticking his finders inside to feel the heated skin. And he was right, Art's chest is definitely chiseled, but instead of smooth it's covered in slightly coarse hair and felix cards his fingers through it in a reverent fashion.

“I'm not going to fuck you now,“ Art warns him, making no move to continue the undressing, but all Fe can hear it 'I'm gonna fuck you later'.

“Uh-huh,“ he breathes a little shakily as their erections rubs against each other some more.

If this is a general result of getting threatened by weirdos Felix won't ever complaina again.

Was it really just a few hours ago that he was being pressed down of this very sofa, a gun forced into his hand, alongside a murder charge?

“Stop thinking,“ Art tells him and for once Fe is happy to oblige.


End file.
